


Mounted

by Govi



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M, threesome bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Govi/pseuds/Govi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Visiting Gondor, Éomer follows when Aragorn secretly slips out at night and is in for a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mounted

Mounted

  
For the third night in sequence, sleep evaded him. The quarters he had been given in the Tower were luxurious and spacious, his bed comfortable. Still, Éomer missed Rohan. Nowadays there was peace in his land, as there was peace in Gondor and all the other lands of Middle Earth, so when Aragorn had invited him for a visit, Éomer had left Rohan in the capable hands of his Marshall of the Mark. He had saddled his horse, Firefoot, and ridden, accompanied by a small group of his Rohirrim, to Gondor.

At first it had been a relief to be freed of the duties of a king for a while and enjoy Gondor’s hospitality. He admired Aragorn’s regal presence when presiding over his council, but the days when Aragorn could break free for a while were the best. They rode out together, both kings, but above all both men and for a few stolen hours, warriors and friends again. Those days were sparse, but therefore even more appreciated.

Aragorn and his Queen seemed perfectly content with their life, clearly loved by their people and Éomer told himself he imagined the tiny gleam of impatience he sometimes saw in the King’s eyes.

Sighing, he freed his legs from the tangling sheets and got out of bed. Putting on light clothes – it was a warm night – he left his room, hoping a night time stroll through the city would make him sleepy.

He was halfway down the spiralling stairs, when he heard footsteps descending in front of him. He leaned over the banister, trying to get a glimpse of that other person, but it was too dark to see anything. Assuming it was one of the servants, he shrugged and carefully followed his way down on the uneven steps of the staircase.

The courtyard was faintly lit by torches and he could just see what was clearly the figure of Aragorn, slipping into the dark shadows, obviously avoiding being seen by the guards.

Éomer grinned, old hunting skills awakening. *Sneaking out alone, Elessar? I think not.* He followed close enough just to see the faint gleam of his host’s sword, but not so close as to be seen himself. As soon as they were into the city itself, Aragorn put up the hood of the cloak he was wearing and made his way swiftly through dark alleys and passages, Éomer closely on his trail. Here, there were only a few people out on the street and they seemed not the least bit interested in the hooded figure or the young man following him.

For a moment Éomer wondered if Aragorn was about to visit some woman, but then he pushed that thought aside, deeming it impossible. He had seen the way women looked at Aragorn, how easily he could have had one on every finger on his hand, but he had turned them all down politely. *Even my strong-headed, straightforward sister failed.* For a moment Éomer felt the old bitterness taking possession of him. Éowyn had been so crushed by Aragorn’s rejection. But then he let it go, knowing how happily married she was now.

He startled when he realized he had almost lost sight of Aragorn, sunk in his thoughts as he had been, but then he noticed him only a few hundred feet away, using a key to open an old battered door to what seemed no more than a hole in the wall. Aragorn stepped in quickly and the door slowly swung shut behind his back, but Éomer managed to catch it with his fingers just before it finally closed.

He waited a little while, making certain Aragorn was well out of the way. He was very much intrigued by what was going on and where the door would eventually lead.

As soon as he stepped inside, the clear air was gone. Immediately, he was surrounded by a thick, fuming fog. He could no longer see Aragorn; only the faint, disappearing sounds of his footsteps proof he had ever been there.

Éomer lifted a hand, bringing it close to his face and could still hardly see it. The fog made him feel secluded and only now did he become aware of strange sounds, like seductive voices talking to him, as if they would persuade him into something he was certain he would regret.

Panic overwhelmed him and he turned back to the wall, his hands searching for the wooden door right behind him. He had not moved a step and it should have been there, but it was not; it was gone. No matter how many times he slid his hands over the wall, there was nothing but damp stone beneath them.

“Aragorn!” he called out, but his voice was muffled by the smothering fog. He called out again, but to no avail and now the sounds surrounding him seemed to swell, as if unseen people were mocking him. There was only one thing he could do and that was to find Aragorn and admit he had been following him just for fun, which was the truth, really.

He stepped away from the wall, ignoring the fear that crept up his spine, determined not to be spooked. Aragorn’s footsteps had died away a long time ago and Éomer just started walking straight ahead, cursing his stupidity in leaving his nice bedroom as he stumbled over unseen obstacles, perhaps small rocks or other such clutter, his feet threatening to slide away from under him more than once.

He had no idea how long he had walked, but it seemed like hours, when he finally saw a tiny light peering through the thick blanket of fog. A few more careful footsteps and then it was as if a heavy veil was lifted. The scene in front of him, lit by numerous burning candles, made him blink. He had reached an open space, in what seemed a cave formed by nature itself. Perhaps two steps more would have brought him out in the open, but he cautiously kept in the shadows of the stone alcove in which he stood hidden. He stared incredulously at the two men a few feet in front of him. They were mere steps away from a beautifully carved wooden bed, richly made up with immaculate white linen and lace.

Aragorn, stripped to the waist, stood facing Éomer, the other man’s back was turned towards him, blond hair falling over broad shoulders. Éomer could see powerful muscles move beneath the thin shirt the man was wearing as the stranger grabbed Aragorn by the shoulders and pulled him in for a fierce, passionate kiss.

Clinging to the man as if he were drowning, Aragorn let himself willingly be pushed backwards against a large wooden table which stood in the middle of the room. When breaking the kiss the blond man tilted his face and Éomer gasped in surprise when he recognized the strong features and the aquiline nose. He had met Boromir of Gondor only once, when he was on his way to Rivendell and had made a short stop in Rohan, but he was certain this was the very same man. Then again, he could not be, he told himself. Boromir had died at Parth Galen and his body had been given to the Falls of Rauros by Aragorn himself...

The man’s hands were on Aragorn’s breeches, Aragorn who was hardly recognizable now, as he writhed under the other man’s touch, his eyes closed. He was swiftly stripped of his last piece of clothing, his hands reaching out to, but batted away by Boromir. *No, not Boromir, impossible.* 

Again, Éomer gasped when the blond man pulled his undershirt over his head and dropped it carelessly on the floor. The Tree of Gondor, drawn in ink on the pale golden skin of his back, rippled over muscles as if it were moving in the wind. Beyond any doubt this was Boromir, the Steward of Gondor, and Aragorn had either lied or Éomer was witnessing something that should not be witnessed by human eyes.

He knew what was about to happen and he wanted to get away, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from the two naked men. He watched as Boromir took a small vial from the table, opened it and drizzled some of the colourless liquid over his fingers, then roughly grabbed Aragorn by the arms, spun him round and bent him over the table.

Coating his cock briefly with slicked fingers, Boromir stood between Aragorn’s parted legs and slowly but determinedly worked his way into the King’s body. Aragorn let out a pained cry that was not a protest, not with him pressing back eagerly against the invasion, as he was.

Boromir’s hand landed between Aragorn’s shoulder blades, pushing him down almost violently so that his face was pressed sideways against the rough wood of the table. Éomer stared at Elessar’s contorted face, the unfocussed gaze of one, deep blue eye and the white teeth, biting the full bottom lip.

Boromir growled; a colourful string of words falling from his mouth in answer to the pleas for more coming from the man beneath him. His frantic movements made the big, sturdy table dance, until suddenly Boromir stilled before thrusting in deeply one last time and bellowing; a roaring, victorious sound echoing from the walls.

To his astonishment Éomer found himself hard, as hard as the rock wall he was leaning against and he shivered. He had known of this – of course he had, he was a soldier – but never witnessed it before. He should be disgusted, but he was not and his hand moved as if it had a will of its own to seek his groin. He squeezed hard, biting his lip to keep from crying out, when suddenly he felt a blow on his head and the world went black.

Refusing to open his eyes, he found his mind was floating in a pleasant dream and he just did not want to step back to reality yet. Murmuring voices grew louder and his brain reluctantly tried to make sense of them.

“…he must have followed me here.”

“Followed you? You are losing your skills, Ranger.”

*Soft chuckle* “I was so eager to come to you, My Love.”

“Well, so was he, seemingly.”

“Now that he is here, what will we do?”

“You know as well as I do.”

“He will be hard to convince.”

“He has a choice.”

“A very poor one.”

“Probably, but he has only himself to blame, following you around like a stray dog.”

“He is a proud and strong man; I fear he will be defiant.”

“I grant you, he does look proud and strong, even tied up like this, but that will not help him.”

*Tied up?* Only now did Éomer realize that he was lying on his back and his arms were above his head. He gave an experimental tug, but there was no give in whatever was restraining him. He opened his eyes, looking straight into Boromir’s face - Boromir, sitting next to him on the big bed, naked as the day he was born and examining him closely.

“You are dead,” Éomer blurted out and then he vainly tried to sit up.

“That I am, Horse Lord,” Boromir said, faintly amused

“Calm down,” another voice sounded, and Éomer looked to his left side, where Aragorn, equally naked, smiled at him.

“Ellesar!” he said pleadingly, as if reminding the man of their mutual kingship.

“Not here my friend; here I am just Aragorn, now lie back.”

“But I saw you and him err… and you are both naked!”

“So are you,” Boromir replied, and this time the amusement shone through clearly. Blinking, Éomer looked down at himself, astonished to find himself as naked as the other two men. He could just see his ankles, tied as they were against the foot of the bed, making his legs spread obscenely. He flushed with embarrassment, but then anger took over and his voice rose.

“What the devil is this? I demand you untie me immediately so I can leave this…this… whatever this place is.”

“This is the realm of the Undead of Gondor,” Boromir stated, his face grave now. “What you would call ghosts, I suspect. You cannot just leave, I fear.”

Pulling hard at his bonds, Éomer struggled to get free, but to no avail. “You cannot keep me here!”

He startled when Aragorn’s hand cupped his face and turned it towards him. “We will not harm you, and I will explain all, but you have to keep still for a moment and listen.”

“But...”

“Please be still, Éomer!”

There was nothing he could do, so he nodded reluctantly. Aragorn sighed, releasing Éomer’s chin.

“From the first moment Boromir and I met, there was something between us, something deep and promising. During the journey it was obscured by our antagonism about the Ring and its destination, but still there. Even our quarrels could not make an end to us being drawn to each other. We were barely ever alone, though and there was never enough time. I suppose we both felt being a member of The Fellowship was a responsibility weighing heavily upon us and more important than our own, private feelings. I think we decided, without even discussing it, that it would have to wait.

After Parth Galen I regretted my decision deeply, but I had to move forward, because of the vow I had made to both Frodo and Boromir. There were also Merry and Pippin, who needed to be saved from a terrible fate, so that Boromir’s death would not be in vain.

“When the Ring was destroyed and the festivities were over, there was a lot of work to be done and even though I thought often of Boromir, mourning only started when most of the damage in Minas Tirith was repaired and I had time to think. I realized how things between us were not finished, even though we made our peace before Boromir died.

I was – and still am - very much in love with my wife, but I knew something was missing and I could not be truly happy. That is when Boromir appeared to me in a dream one night.”

Aragorn stopped to look at Boromir, who smiled at him and spoke in his turn.

“Aragorn’s farewell kiss was the last thing I remembered when I awoke in a strange world. I cannot tell you what took place, as it is not for the living to know, but let me say that I was offered a second chance with Aragorn. At first, on being told the conditions, I refused, as I felt Aragorn, being the King of Gondor now and married to his Elven Queen, was better left in peace.

It was only when I learned of his grief that I agreed to what they offered. Every time the moon grows full, Aragorn and I can meet here. I will not grow old and only when stepping outside, would I truly die. This way I was able to remain Steward of Gondor and advise my King about state affairs.”

Éomer snorted derisively; “That is not what your meeting looked like to me! State affairs, indeed!”

Green eyes narrowed as Boromir ignored the interruption.

“There was one condition, though. If anyone else should enter here, they would share my fate; stay here or die on leaving. There will be no way out for you, no door to leave by, unless you bond with me and Aragorn, as Aragorn has bonded with me. I am sorry for you Éomer, truly I am, as we are more or less related, but the choice is yours. If you want to go back to your life, you will have to bond with Aragorn and me.

Éomer looked at Aragorn warily, a dark suspicion in his mind. Fearing he already knew the answer, he still asked, “Bond how exactly?”

“You will have to allow us both to take you,” Aragorn replied softly.

Anger flared up again and Éomer shook his head in fierce denial. “You cannot force me to ...”

“Force you? What do you think we are? Rapists?” Boromir said indignantly. ”It is your choice entirely.”

“Choice? What kind of choice is that?”

“Éomer,” Aragorn laid a soothing hand on his arm, “it is a choice between life and death. Do not waste your anger, it is the Undead who give you this choice and make you and us do this, not Boromir and me. Believe me, my friend; it is not something to be afraid of. I promise you it will be good.”

“I am not afraid,” Éomer snapped. “It is unnatural; it is wrong, but I believe that I have no other option. Just remember, I am no woman.”

“We will not treat you like one either,” Boromir purred, resting a hand on Éomer’s thigh.

“At least untie me then.”

“Not just yet, you look too good like this.”

Éomer tried to protest, but then Aragorn’s mouth was on his, a probing tongue pushing inside, swallowing his words. Boromir, on his other side, started licking his neck, suddenly biting down sharply, while his fingers captured a nipple, pinching and pulling it roughly. Pain, mingled with pleasure shot straight to Éomer’s groin and he arched up despite himself.

Aragorn’s hand tangled in his hair, tilting Éomer’s head to gain better access to his mouth, kissing him as no one had ever kissed him before. He wanted to resist, but it just felt too good and this time he kissed back, his tongue curling around Aragorn’s, shivering as he felt Boromir licking his pectorals, following a tantalizingly slow path all the way down his body. He bit down on Aragorn’s mouth, suddenly filled with a ravenous hunger for more, muscles straining while he fought his bonds. He vaguely wondered what was happening, how they had turned him from defiant to compliant in a matter of minutes, but then the thought was gone as a warm, wet mouth closed over his straining member.

He bucked up wildly, whimpering as both Boromir and Aragorn pulled back.

“He won’t last; too young and too eager,” Boromir grinned, “this will help,” showing a thin leather strap, dangling from his fingers. Éomer groaned when Boromir tied the strap around his balls and the base of his cock. “There, we can’t have you spill before we do.” His hand still on Éomer’s groin he leaned in and shared a long deep kiss with Aragorn.

Two pair of hands started stroking Éomer as the two men moved their attention back to their squirming victim. He uttered a strange, strangled sound as Aragorn’s mouth latched on his nipple, biting it playfully and then more seriously, while Boromir’s mouth was on his poor, restrained cock again, wriggling his tongue in the little slit on the purple head.

His voice breaking, Éomer started pleading with them to untie him or let him come, but the onslaught kept going on until he had no more words and was reduced to mere quivers and whimpers.

When they finally untied him there was no more fight left in Éomer; he gave in to their hands turning him, forcing him onto all fours. Aragorn climbed between his knees, nudging them far apart, then leaned in to lick Éomer's spine.

Boromir, kneeling close to Éomer’s face, laughed, his voice a dirty whisper.

“Look at him, Aragorn; he is built like a stallion himself!” He grabbed a handful of Éomer’s long hair and pulled his face up, bringing it close to his.

“You’ll be a pleasure to ride, Horse Lord.”

Éomer startled when he felt fluid drizzling down his crack and bit his lip when a finger slowly entered his body, soon followed by a second. It hurt and he winced when a third finger was added. He wasn’t ready, but his cock was still rock hard, leaping happily at Aragorn’s delighted sounds as he shoved in his own cock, slowly but relentlessly.

Éomer cried out, but immediately Boromir kissed him, the grip on the hair even tighter, the aggressive tongue a welcome distraction from the slowly subsiding pain. He relaxed into the plundering kiss and then Aragorn shoved in to the hilt and waited.

Tentatively, Éomer pushed back, gasping when Aragorn started to move. Strong fingers held his hips in an iron grip as the pace quickened, slow smooth glides turning into rough thrusts. When Boromir broke the kiss, Éomer wavered, gripping the headboard to keep his balance against Aragorn’s frantic fucking. His cock ached to be freed, to be touched, and he let out a long wail of agony when he felt Aragorn shuddering against him, spilling his seed deep inside.

Éomer looked over his shoulder, watching Boromir as he shared a long, heated kiss with Aragorn. “Please,” he moaned, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears. Aragorn slipped out and now Boromir took his place, cock pushing into Éomer’s willing body.

Immediately the man grabbed the long blond hair again, forcing Éomer’s head backwards and started fucking him ruthlessly. Pulling the hair even harder made Éomer’s back arch, changing the angle and something inside him seemed to explode. There was a blinding white light behind his closed eyelids when Boromir hit the exact spot again and again. It felt brilliant and for a moment Éomer was certain he would come despite the strap around his balls, that his body would ignore the pain, but then a hand was on his cock, swiftly untying the leather and he came immediately, longer and harder then he ever had before. Boromir’s triumphant cry rang into his ears, just before he blacked out and slumped down.

  
When Éomer woke he was alone on the bed. Aragorn and Boromir, fully dressed, were entangled in a whispered conversation, seated at the wooden table. His clothes were in a neat pile next to him on the bed and he quickly pulled them on, trying to ignore the numerous aches every movement caused him.

“Ah, you are awake then,” Aragorn said as if nothing had happened and Éomer had just dozed off in the middle of a nice tea party. Éomer scowled and said nothing, turning his back on both men.

“Why not wait outside for me. I will soon be with you.”

Without a word, Éomer started walking, afraid to step into that fog again, but refusing to show his anxiety. There was no fog at all this time and no sounds either. He could easily find his way back and the door was exactly where it should be. He stepped out into the dark, deserted alley. He did not feel like waiting for Aragorn, in fact he would prefer never to see him again, but he had no idea where he was and would probably get lost if he tried to find his way to the citadel alone, so he waited.

When Aragorn finally joined him, Éomer refused to look at him or talk to him and eventually Aragorn gave up. They made their way through the dark streets in uneasy silence and only when the White Tower came in sight did Éomer speak.

“I will leave tomorrow morning. I do not want to stay here one day longer than strictly needed.”

He frowned at the unwelcome mirth, when Aragorn suddenly laughed.

“You will not be able to ride for a few days, my friend, believe me.”

“Then I will walk,” he replied gruffly, which was rather childish considering the distance between the two lands.

“Look here, my friend; what happened was not my fault. I did not ask you to follow me. Let us be reasonable and try to forget about it. Just take a rest in the coming days and leave when you are able to ride your horse. We will speak of it no more. Agreed?”

Éomer had to admit – if only to himself – that Aragorn was right. “Agreed,” he said reluctantly and then they had reached the White Tower.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

  
Firefoot moved restlessly and Éomer had to keep a tight hand on the reigns. He felt the horse wanted to leave nearly as badly as he did, after being in the stable for more than four days. The official part of him leaving Gondor was already over, the only thing left was to thank King and Queen for their hospitality. He gave the reigns to Georl, one of his men, walked over to Arwen and took her hand, but to his surprise she kissed him on both cheeks before she bade him a good trip.

He turned to Aragorn, offering him a formal bow of his head, but strong arms pulled him into a tight hug, spinning him around.

“It was good having you here, my friend, please visit us again.”

Before Éomer could even try to step back he felt a hand land on his rear. Fortunately, no one could see it as Éomer was facing his men, but he still felt petrified. He swallowed a yelp when he felt the sharp pinch of his flesh, fervently but idly wishing for retaliation. He forced a tight smile when the King released him, then walked to his horse.

*I had to; I had no choice. I will never go back to Gondor. I will marry Lothiriel within months and forget that this ever happened.* 

He took the reigns from Georl, ignoring the shy smile the young man gave him. *In Rohan things will be back to normal; I will send Georl away on a mission and will no longer think about his damned fine arse in those tight breeches.*

End


End file.
